I finish putting on the suit. I straighten my bowtie and use a bit of grease from a leftover luxury, bacon, to grease down my hair. We start the walk to the square, where the Reaping will take place. Emma will pull two names as she does every year, taking along two tributes from our own District 12 with her to the Capitol, where they will battle to the death with twenty-two other tributes from the other eleven districts.
When we arrive at the square, hundreds of people whisper amongst themselves. Who will get picked? How old will they be? Will they have a chance at survival? My name is entered twenty-seven times. Cooper's forty-two. The chances that we will be picked is large, especially against those who have only been entered once, the young ones. The air is warm and full of excitement, eerie on days like this, but suddenly the chatter stops all at once and a chill hangs in the air. Cooper pats my back and whispers that it'll all be okay.
Emma taps the microphone with a long, painted nail, commanding everyone's attention.
"Now, now," she says in her ridiculous Capitol accent. "Welcome to the Reaping Day for the seventy-fourth anual Hunger Games!" She pauses for applause with a smile on her face, but why would we clap when soon two of our own will be sent to die? She clears her throat, embarrased at the lack of applause.
"Erm, well then...Let us not waste any time, yes?" She reaches a hand into the container.
The genders of the tributes are completely random, all the names mixed in. She pulls out a slip of paper. The first tribute.
My name is called.
Cooper's yells echo, my father grip on his shoulders, the only thing holding him back from grabbing me. He's still screaming as I walk to the stage. Emma gestures for me to come up, stand on stage, smile at the crowd. I hear my mother sobbing softly into my father's chest. Cooper calms down a bit as I step on stage, but I can see the wild look in his eyes. A thousand pairs of eyes scan me as I stand. Emma acknowedges me with a nod, directs me to stand more to the right.
"And now, the second tribute from District 12," Emma says as though it is the most casual thing in the world. "Aaron Babcock." She calls out, and then a gangly, thin, awkward boy who looks no more than forteen years old and has red hair stumbles over to the stage. He somehow manages to make it up in once piece, standing beside me.
"And here we have our tributes!" She is far too happy about this for a supposedly sane person. "And your mentor, April Rhodes."
April is the town drunk. She was a tribute years ago, and she won. A particularly bloody year in the Games history. Some say it got to her, became too much, so she turned to alcohol.
April stumbles on stage and rests her head on Emma's shoulder.
"Hiya, darlin'," she slurs. "Waz happenin'? Do I have some new tributes?" Emma's face turns worried.
"Well, yes." she says to April. "In any event," she says, turning back to the crowd, her voice getting higher in oitch once more, harsh in my ears. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"
She leads each of us away to a room. All I do is sit there and look out the window. There is the twist of a doorknob and, alarmed, my head snaps back. My family is here. Mother is teary, Father isn't meeting my eyes, and Cooper is running forward and pulling me into a tight hug.
"Blaine, I can take your place. Please, it's not too late." He whispers.
"No." I say firmly. "I was chosen. I'll do it. Believe in me, Cooper."
"I do, it's just..You have to win, Blaine. You have to."
"Losing was never an option, Coop."
"It never will be, B. Just know I love you. I'll be rooting for you from back home. Just know that I love you."
"I love you, too." and tears threaten to spill out of my eyes. My mother comes over.
"Good luck." is all she whispers, and then they're leading her and everyone else away. Cooper is pulled by force.
"Blaine!" He yells. "Blaine! Win! Come back a winner!" and the door shuts and I am left alone with myself.
We are put on a train early on. The footage of the tributes being chosen airs. I watch them as they're chosen,
District One, a short brunette girl and a gigantic boy with a dopey expression. From District Two, a large boy with a serious expression and a hulking gait, and a short Filipino girl. From District Three, a Latina girl with dark, dark, hair and a fair-skinned blonde girl. From District Four, A thin boy with blonde hair and a heavy boy with black hair. District Five, a boy in a clownsuit comes up, high-fiving the other tribute, a brown hair boy with a cocky expression. They appear to be friends. These games with tear them apart.
From District Six, A beautiful blonde girl with hazel eyes, and the most beautiful boy I've ever seen, with brown hair and eyes a mix of blue and green, body thin, skin perfect and pale. They glance at each other and look away. There is tension. In District Seven, an Asian girl and an Asian boy stand side by side. From District Eight, a lanky boy with a face like a meerkat stands next to a blonde boy with an abnormally large mouth. From District Nine, a bespectacled boy in a wheelchair (he will be the first to die) and an Asian boy who looks as though he's never fought a day in his life.
From District Ten, a boy with a mohawk stands proud next to be a brunette boy. From District Eleven, two dark-skinned tributes, a boy and a girl, stand beside each other. I rewatch my district's Reaping. You can hear Cooper's desperation in his voice, see it in his eyes. You can see Aaron stumble up to the stage. He is hopeless.
I lock myself in my room, the shock a bit too much right now. I should get all my sadness out before the camera watch my every move.